by Alana Terry
The pause that followed reminded Kennedy of those moments in class waiting for the teacher to hand you back a test you were afraid you’d failed.
“What are you listening to?” she finally asked when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Oh, that? It’s my uncle and some of his buddies. They’ve got this folk, grunge, worship band mix going on in Oregon. Call themselves the Babylon Eunuchs. You know, because Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were probably ... Well, never mind. Do you like it?”
He turned the volume up, which made the slightly off-key singing even more discordant. “It’s not bad,” Kennedy lied. At least it gave her an excuse to not have to hold a conversation. Unfortunately, as soon as the first song ended, Nick turned off the CD. “You know, now that we’re alone, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
Kennedy felt her body tense and fought her muscles to relax. Her mind raced back to all her previous encounters with Nick, including a pseudo-date over Christmas break when they went out together for clam chowder.
“What is it?” She held her breath.
“Do you think it’s wise for Pastor Carl to be so political?”
Kennedy blinked, more confused than relieved. “What?”
The Peter, James, and John bobble heads nodded sagely while he spoke. “Like tonight, for example. It just seems to me like the leader of a racially diverse megachurch in Cambridge would understand how polarizing some of his views can be.”
Kennedy had to admit she didn’t know as much about American politics as either Carl or Nick. She could only guess what he was hinting at. “So you’re upset about the racism thing?”
Nick shrugged. “Partly. But not just that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great pastor, and I couldn’t hope for a better boss. He’s a good friend too, which is why I don’t want to call him out on it. But the American church is on its deathbed, at least when it comes to conservative evangelical Christianity. These folks like Carl, they’re not taken seriously anymore. People don’t come to church to hear arguments against gay marriage or abortion. They want to see grace. Where’s the grace in berating women for something they did to their child years or decades in the past?”
Kennedy frowned. “So does that mean you’re for or against abortion?”
“Against. Naturally. But really, is abortion the issue, or is poverty the issue? Did you know that eighty percent of women who get abortions do it because they don’t feel like they can afford to raise another child? So what should we do, should we focus on banning abortions, or should we spend that same energy and resources on lifting women out of poverty so they don’t seek out the procedure in the first place? Do I like abortion? No. But are we really doing any good when all we talk about is which pro-life candidates to elect?”
Kennedy frowned. She wasn’t following Nick’s reasoning, and she had the feeling that she was too uninformed to ever catch up with his logic.
“Around the country,” he went on, “Christians are seen as judgmental hypocrites doing what they can to strong-arm the government into agreeing with everything they preach. I mean, I’m all for the Bible, but seriously, does it really matter if a courtroom hangs up a copy of the Ten Commandments or not? When Jesus tells us to feed the hungry and free the oppressed, was he really talking about whether or not school kids say under God in the pledge of the allegiance?”
Sensing he was waiting for a response, Kennedy muttered that she hadn’t thought through those issues lately. And by lately, she meant at all, but she didn’t mention that part.
“So then there’s Pastor Carl, and I already said he’s one of my favorite men in the world. He’s totally out of touch with the times, but people keep coming to his church. St. Margaret keeps growing, and I don’t know why.”
For once, Kennedy felt like she could contribute intelligently to the conversation. “It’s probably because people see how much he and Sandy love others. Isn’t that what church is supposed to be about?”
“You’re probably right.” Nick turned his uncle’s dissonant blend of banjo, guitar, and inept vocals back on and glanced at her long enough to crack a grin. “You’re a smart girl. I guess that’s why they let you into Harvard.”
The second half of the drive back to school wasn’t nearly as awkward as it started out. Nick dropped her off as close to her dorm as he could without needing to park, and Kennedy smiled to herself when she pictured what the other students would think of the pimped out Christian bus. As she made her way to her dorm, she realized she was more relaxed than she’d been in weeks. When she got to her floor and heard Willow and some guy talking, she wasn’t even that upset. It was a Friday night, after all. If Willow really wanted the room to herself, Kennedy could text Reuben to see if he wanted to meet her at the library to go over some calculus.
She pushed the door open, but her smile faded when she saw Dominic in his uniform standing by Willow’s desk.
“Oh, there you are.” He didn’t smile.
Neither did her roommate.
Willow took in a noisy breath. “I was just talking with Officer ...” Her voice trailed off.
Dominic shuffled his feet. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Kennedy’s abdomen felt as if it were crashing to the ground like a poorly executed inertia experiment.
Dominic glanced once at Willow and then cleared his throat. “I’m here about your friend, Reuben. He’s just been arrested.”
CHAPTER 16
Kennedy’s lungs seized up like the bulb on the tip of a Pasteur pipette. She didn’t know who to look at. It felt as if both Dominic and Willow had betrayed her.
Her roommate frowned sympathetically. “You want some tea?”
Tea? At a time like this?
Arrested. Had she heard that right? Was it possible they were wrong? She turned to Dominic. “Were you the one who brought him in?” Her tone dripped with anger and accusation, but she didn’t care.
He shook his head. “No. This is all out of my hands here. I just wanted to let you know. It’ll be on the news soon, and I didn’t like the thought of you finding out that way.”
“Why?” Kennedy demanded. “You said the department wouldn’t bother us. You said they’d be scared of the real story coming out.”
Dominic offered the slightest hint of a shrug. “That’s what a lot of us are wondering, too. Best guess is the chief was getting too much pressure. The media wasn’t buying the whole ‘I forgot to call for backup’ story. And then came Gordon Clarence and his followers with their protests, turning this whole thing into some kind of a witch hunt. The chief had to do something. Take some kind of action to save face.”
Kennedy couldn’t believe she’d let this man pray with her. She couldn’t believe another Christian could stand by and tell her these things while still wearing his police uniform. Why had he stopped by at all? Was he just here to gloat? Here to warn Kennedy not to get involved? Or ...
“What about me?” She wanted to sound forceful, but her voice betrayed her fears.
Dominic offered a small smile, which looked out of place on his sheepish face. “You’re fine. The chief looked into your background and apparently decided you weren’t worth messing with.”
“Because I’m white?” All Carl’s platitudes about racism being a sin of the past now sounded as nonsensical as the Dodo’s ramblings in Alice in Wonderland.
Dominic’s expression grew stern. “No. Because of your background. The chief knows a good lawyer will rip his guy to shreds if this case goes to court. He doesn’t want to touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
His words took time to settle, like droplets of oil slowly coalescing in an aqueous mixture. “So it’s because my parents can afford a good attorney?” she finally asked.
Dominic didn’t answer her question. “I’m really sorry. I came by to tell you if there’s anything I can do ...”
“Yeah, there is,” Willow interrupted. Kennedy had forgotten for the moment her roommate was listening in to their
conversation. “You can get her friend out of jail.”
“I wish I could.” Dominic sighed. “Unfortunately, my hands are completely tied.”
Willow scrunched up her violet-tipped hair. “Yeah, that’s not good enough.” She pointed her finger toward his chest. “You know what’s even more dangerous than a corrupt cop? A halfway decent cop who sits in his patrol car full of self-righteousness and smugness and says he wishes he could do something about the bad ones but he can’t.”
Kennedy wasn’t sure if she should try defending Dominic or not.
“It makes me sick to think of how many of you there must be,” Willow went on, “going home to your nice little nuclear families, shaking your heads because one of your colleagues just acted like history’s biggest jerk, feeling smug because you’re one of the good ones and at least you’re ‘doing everything you can.’ You make me nauseous.”
Part of Kennedy was ashamed her roommate was subjecting Dominic to this verbal bashing, and part of her was glad Willow had the courage to express what she couldn’t yet articulate.
Dominic adjusted his uniform. “I better go.”
“Yeah, you better,” Willow spat.
He looked at Kennedy. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She wanted to ignore him, throw him out of the room with Willow’s insults echoing in his ears, but instead she asked, “What’s going to happen to Reuben?”
Dominic frowned again. Kennedy realized he could be handsome if it weren’t for the strained, worried look in his eyes.
“It’s hard to say. He’s from Kenya, so they’re going to get the embassy involved. Nobody wants this to escalate further than it needs to. They’ll have an arraignment, probably charge him with assaulting an officer. If he’s convicted, my guess is they’ll move for deporting him. By then everyone will have forgotten about the whole incident, so the chief won’t have any reason to make him serve more time.”
“Do you think they have enough evidence to convict him?” Kennedy asked.
Dominic shrugged. “Depends on what kind of jury he gets.”
Kennedy tried to cling to some sense of hope. “But you said if another witness came forward ...”
A sad, heavy sigh. “It’s been all over the news. If any more witnesses are out there, we would have heard from them by now.”
“But it’s possible?” Kennedy wasn’t sure if she was making a statement or asking him a question.
“It’s possible.” He met her eyes. “But I wouldn’t bank on it.”
What about prayer? she wanted to ask him. Didn’t he believe in prayer anymore? Maybe if they all start asking God for a new witness to materialize ...
“He’s got school. We haven’t finished our lab report. He can’t miss that.”
“I think right now, your friend has more urgent matters to worry about than his classwork.”
“So there’s nothing we can do?” It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. This was America, where everyone was promised an equal chance, where justice was supposed to be a non-negotiable guarantee.
Dominic stepped toward the door. “We can pray. And hope another witness comes forward with the full story.”
CHAPTER 17
As soon as Dominic left, Kennedy plopped into her roommate’s beanbag chair with a groan.
Willow filled up an Alaska Chicks Rock mug. “Have some tea.” She passed it to Kennedy. “Man, I thought he’d never go. He’s got a lot of nerve just showing up like that.”
“How long was he here before I came?”
Willow sat down at her desk and kicked her feet up on the bed. “Not long. At first, I thought he might be coming to arrest you. Othello said something like this would probably happen, you know.”
“He did?”
Willow nodded and poured herself some tea. “Yeah. I guess he’s been following this police brutality stuff for quite a while now. Says that once they get pressured, the department does what it can to vilify the victims. It’s one thing for a cop to shoot an unarmed black kid. But if the kid has a criminal record, or if drug tests show he was high when he was murdered, most people go back to their day-to-day lives and assume he must have deserved it.”
“This is a little different than a shooting, don’t you think?” Kennedy took a sip of Willow’s bitter medicinal tea.
“Not really. The only difference was Reuben wasn’t killed. You’re lucky that way. It could have been a lot worse.”
Kennedy couldn’t believe she was just sitting here sipping tea while Reuben was probably paralyzed with fear in some jail cell. What would happen to him there? Kennedy didn’t even know what happened to American citizens who got arrested. What about an international student? Would they extradite him? Her mind was spinning like a pulsar star. Would she even see him again?
Willow let out a dramatic sigh. “Listen, I’m really sorry you’re going through this. It sucks no matter how you look at it.” She stood up and grabbed her hand-painted fashion scarf.
“Where are you going?” Kennedy didn’t want to admit how much she hated the thought of being left alone.
“I’m gonna go talk to Othello. He’ll want to know about this. Maybe he’ll find a way to help Reuben.”
“The only way to help Reuben is if another witness comes forward.” She hated the resignation she recognized in her own voice. Was it really that hopeless?
Willow passed her an almost empty container of raw honey. “Here, take as much as you want with your tea. I can always get more.”
Kennedy accepted the Mason jar, trying to find a way to ask Willow to stay with her without having to beg. For the first time, she wondered where she put her therapist’s business card with his after-hours phone number. She couldn’t just stay here like this. For a minute, she considered tagging along with Willow but remembered how uncomfortable she felt during the arguments around the Lindgrens’ dinner table. She couldn’t bring herself to get up from the oversized beanbag chair.
“You all right?” Willow put in her long, feathered earrings and stared at Kennedy’s reflection in her small desk mirror.
Kennedy lowered her face into the steaming mug. “I’ll be fine.” She hoped it wasn’t a lie.
Once Willow left, Kennedy dissolved two big spoonfuls of honey into the herbal concoction and thought about Reuben. It wasn’t fair. She almost wished Dominic had come and arrested her, too. Then at least she’d know her dad would do everything in his power to free her. If Kennedy was arrested, her dad would hire the best defense lawyers in the greater Boston area. The officer that assaulted them would be lucky if he could ever show his face in Massachusetts again. Who did Reuben have to advocate for him? Who would speak up for him?
She glanced at the time. It was already morning in Yanji. She grabbed her phone, grateful to see it still had plenty of charge. She was breathing faster than normal as the call connected. Would he be there?
“Hello?”
“Daddy?” Her voice squeaked. She swallowed down a little more tea. She couldn’t cry. Tears wouldn’t solve anything. They were just as useless and nearly as paralyzing as her anxiety. She had to get through this conversation. For Reuben.
“What is it, princess? What’s the matter?”
She had hoped the news would have already made it onto Channel 2’s website, which her dad kept up with more religiously than any locals Kennedy knew. She bit her lip, trying to form the words, afraid of the way they would confront her with their hideous reality once she gave them voice.
“They arrested Reuben.”
If she had been talking with her mom, she would have been blubbering by now, but with her dad it was different. He didn’t waste time asking about how Kennedy felt or worrying about her emotions. He bypassed all those fluffy preliminaries and jumped right into his formal, businesslike interview. “What did they charge him with?”
“I don’t know. Something about assaulting an officer, I think.” She took another scalding sip of tea, thankful to find her vocal chords weren’t too st
rained.
“Where are they holding him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Have you talked to anyone else? Do you have any reason to believe you’ll be arrested next?”
“No. There was a policeman here just a minute ago. He’s the one who told me about Reuben.” She wanted to tell her dad more, but he was firing questions at her as fast as a proton slinging its way through a particle accelerator.
“Have you talked to anyone from the press?”
“No.”
“Good girl. You keep it that way, all right? I’m on Channel 2’s page. They’ve got the story right here. Looks like they still haven’t mentioned your name. That’s good. By the sound of it, if they wanted you too, they would have gotten you by now. I don’t think you need to worry, princess.”
Couldn’t he understand? How calloused did he think she was? “I’m not worried about me.” Her larynx tightened. She took a gulp of tea and focused on the feel of the honey sliding down her throat. “I need to know how to help Reuben.”
For the first time since he picked up the phone, her dad was quiet. She could picture his scowl as he stared at his computer screen.
“He’s an international student, right?” he finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s gonna be red tape. Bureaucracy. The good news is that means it will give him and his lawyer time to ...”
“He doesn’t have a lawyer.” Kennedy wanted to scream. For being such a business genius, her dad could be completely daft at times.
“He doesn’t have a lawyer,” Kennedy repeated with a little more restraint.
“Then the courts will assign him one ...” Her dad’s voice trailed off. Kennedy hoped he was finally grasping the seriousness of Reuben’s situation. She pictured him in his Yanji office, his desk strewn with paperwork, his urgent-message file cluttered to overflowing. He probably had a dozen pressing matters that needed his immediate attention, and she was asking him to ignore all that and help her find a way to get Reuben out of jail. Should she tell him everything? Should she tell him about the drowning, suffocating weight in her chest when she imagined him getting deported back to Kenya? All thoughts of romance aside, how could she make it through the rest of her semester without him? Reuben was the only good thing that had happened to her this entire school year. Everything else had been an anxiety-riddled headache at best, traumatizing torture at worst. Through it all, through kidnappings and murder attempts, through lab reports and research papers, Reuben had encouraged her. Supported her. How could she step foot into the chem lab Monday knowing that she had abandoned him?